Star Wars: From the Clone Wars to Starfaring Heroes

Chapter 44 - Tracking
In his heart, Renn felt that the Milky Way was smaller than he had imagined.

“The Kratara I was talking about,” Carly glared at Ryan, “she knows another defector, a captain named Rael Hathor, who has extensive connections in the Confederate underworld. I bet he has ties to some shops on the ‘Wheel,’ and he knows every naval officer in the foundry. You know, he deals in black market parts, and captains like to equip their ships with… let’s call it unlicensed equipment. In this space, nobody’s clean.”

“So you can help me organize a simulated battle.” Ryan reached for his wine glass, the condensation on the glass wetting his fingertips.

Carly raised the eyebrow that Renn called the "brow of expectation".

Ryan made a gesture under the table.

Hal's spherical body silently slid out of the shadows and lightly leaped onto the sofa.

When Carly saw the robot, her eyes widened instantly, her pupils contracted slightly, and then she narrowed her eyes, a smile that was somewhere between annoyance and amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Hal slid open the storage compartment door on his chest, revealing an inconspicuous black box, just the right size for Rein to hold in one hand.

Ryan placed it on the table, making a slight clinking sound.

"I can give you this."

Carly reached out, her fingertips tentatively touching the box's cold surface before picking it up.

She turned the box over, her fingertips carefully running over every corner, checking for any seams or joints.

“A Republic interplanetary navigator,” Raine answered the question she hadn’t asked aloud. “It was taken from a Jedi cruiser. This thing can track the identification code and course of every Republic Navy ship within a six-parity range in real time, and it’s a one-way upload, so the source cannot be traced back.”

Carly's posture as she held the box suddenly changed; her arm tensed slightly, as if it weighed a ton.

A sharp glint suddenly flashed in the depths of his previously dull eyes, like flint polished in the darkness.

Do you have any more of these?

Her voice was so low it was almost drowned out by the surrounding noise.

“You mean an interstellar navigation system? No,” Raine leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, closing the distance between them. “But I have data on an entire cruiser, including shield frequency distribution, engine weaknesses, standard combat procedures… Is that enough for you?”

Carly smiled, her lips parted to reveal her neat teeth, and the fine lines around her eyes smoothed out.

This was the most carefree and unguarded smile that Ryan had seen in a long time.

Ryan picked up his glass and took a big gulp of wine, trying to hide the momentary shift in his expression.

Hal suddenly tapped Renn's shoulder with its metal knuckles, the force was light, but it almost made him choke on his drink.

The robot whispered, "The girl contacted the main control program."

Raine cleared his throat and waved, "Go ahead."

It seems this Jedi has gotten himself into trouble.

From what I know, this kind of thing is quite normal.

Trouble always seems to be chasing Jedi.

He doesn't have the energy to worry about such things right now.

Even when Paris was captured by Republic agents, she couldn't reveal any crucial information.

He had already taken the necessary precautions in advance.

Carly's gaze followed the robot as it silently slid out of the cubicle, but she asked nothing.

“I’ll give you something extra,” she refocused on Ryan. “I know an engineer at the Ringo Venda shipyard, a Quaronian named Isquik Tors, who has access to the core department of the Quaronian Fleet Design Institute. If you can name a few key figures, he’ll help you find the information you need.”

"You don't seem like the type to give things away for free."

Ryan gave a half-smile, his finger unconsciously tracing circles along the rim of the cup.

“I knew what I wanted before I came here.” Carly’s voice was hoarse as she suddenly stood up, her movements deliberately relaxed. “And now, it’s quiet here, and no one is eavesdropping.”

Her gaze swept over the empty entrance to the cubicle.

Raine tilted his head back and drank the rest of the wine in his glass, a warm current rushing from his throat to his chest.

He casually slid the empty cup across the smooth tabletop.

Carly leaned closer to him, and without any warning, her lips pressed quickly and precisely onto Ryan's.

It was just a brief encounter, dry and smelling of alcohol, without any entanglement of passion, more like two people stretched too tight by pressure seeking a moment of release.

Ryan stepped back a few centimeters and saw an eager, almost defiant smile on her face, her teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Ryan's gaze met hers, and a finger involuntarily rose, the pad of his finger lightly brushing against the raised, slightly rough old scar on her cheek.

"Is this really how it should be?"

Raine's voice lowered.

There are hundreds of more suitable times and thousands of more secluded locations.

This will definitely cause trouble for Renn in the future, but that's a problem Renn will have to face in the future.

When Carly caught Ryan's undisguised and direct gaze fixed on her face, her smile deepened, carrying a sense of understanding.

Extremely cautious yet extremely reckless.

This is Rennes.

In response, she exerted force and shoved Ryan against the cold metal wall of the cubicle.

Without the slightest hesitation, I proceeded with the next action.

……

Paris wasn't sure exactly when she had been targeted.

Perhaps it was because she had won too many hands playing Pazarc.

Her body's instincts alerted her, reminding her to leave immediately.

Master Luminara always taught her to trust the intuition given by the Force.

At this moment, Paris didn't want to disappoint the master's expectations.

However, her eyes remained fixed on the cards in her hand, while she pondered her escape route.

First, she has to win this round.

Master Luminara was a master of Pazak, and as her apprentice, Baris could not leave halfway through a game, as that would tarnish her master's reputation.

"Miss?"

The dealer, wearing white gloves, held his hand above the deck of cards, his voice carrying a formulaic urging tone.

Paris stared intently at the cards in her hand, using the Force to sense the cards in the deck.

After a quick mental calculation, she decisively pushed out a large stack of colorful credit chips in front of her.

After raising the bet, a card is drawn from the side cards and turned face up.

Pazark.

Paris couldn't help but grin, and a small group of onlookers behind her, who had bet on her, erupted in deafening cheers and whistles.

After all, they had just won a large sum of money. She quickly gathered her winnings into her briefcase, then, carrying the heavy bag, rushed out of the casino and onto the bustling street.

She walked quickly toward the nearest information kiosk, keenly observing any subtle movements behind her with each step.

It wasn't until she descended a crowded escalator and merged into the flow of people in the lower, darker passageway that Paris finally confirmed that her pursuers were not from the casino.

She wouldn't be surprised even if they were people from the casino.

After all, she practically emptied that gambling table.

Now, those who are not casino owners raise an even more serious problem.

Who could that be?

This is definitely not your average thug.

Although they hated the enemy uniform they were wearing, on the "Wheel," this separatist uniform was enough to intimidate the minor characters.

This tracker, with his steady steps, precise rhythm, and skillful blending into the crowd, was a true expert.

Barris was able to detect the stalker entirely because of the Force.

A glimmer of hope welled up in her heart, but at the same time, she was also somewhat worried.

Could he be a secret agent of the Republic?

This might be her best chance of being rescued.

Or, as Ryan said, it could also cost her her life.

But what if it's someone from the separatist security bureau?
Then it's completely over.

A separatist wouldn't be so sneaky as to stalk another "colleague".

This thought made her feel nauseous.

This only proves that her disguise has been exposed.

Paris didn't understand where the courage she had shown when facing Ventress in the arena had gone.

At that time, she was even prepared to sacrifice herself to give the Republic a chance to survive.

Perhaps because death was so close at that moment, Ventress's murderous gaze felt oppressive to her as if it were a tangible force.

Now, the shadow of death looms once more, bringing only a cold, suffocating bitterness.

She wasn't actually in any real danger.

She's a Jedi Knight!
However, at this moment she felt trapped.

Confined in this detestable uniform.

I was submerged in the suffocatingly crowded throng.

Trapped on this huge, cold, and hostile space station.

What should I do?
Use the Force to pull this tracker out of the crowd?

Then, under the watchful eyes of hundreds... no, thousands of pairs of eyes, would their identities be exposed?

what's next?

How could we stand by and watch those patriots of the Republic be dragged away, tortured, and killed?

Or, if this is the pursuer's goal, should he just surrender?
Or are they going to drag me into some deserted maintenance tunnel and shoot me in the back of the head?
A bitter taste spread through my mouth.

Paris glanced quickly at the timer on her wrist, deliberately showing an anxious expression on her face, and quickened her pace.

She saw the familiar blue fluorescent sign of the information kiosk and struggled to squeeze through the throng of people.

Too many people.

So many it's dizzying.

“Master program,” Barris licked her dry lips, her voice a little strained, “please tell me the fastest route to Perimeter Bay 33.”

She felt the scanning beam from the control panel sweep across her face.

"Madam, please follow the instructions to the nearest vertical airflow duct station. I have prepared a vehicle for you."

Before the administrator's voice had even finished, Paris had already turned around, her eyes eagerly searching for her next destination.

Despite quickening her pace, the oppressive feeling of being followed remained ever closer.

Paris instinctively reached for her waist...

There was nothing there.

The lightsaber is gone!

Fu-ck!

Paris let out a short, low curse and abruptly turned a corner piled high with crates.

I saw the circular entrance to the airflow duct station.

The pace of her pursuers behind her quickened noticeably, and the warnings of the Force rang in her ears, almost drowning out the surrounding noise.

Sudden.

A cold, three-fingered claw covered in fine scales suddenly gripped her upper arm with astonishing force.

The tension in Paris's heart suddenly snapped.

She didn't even turn around to check; she simply yanked her arm free from the restraints and ran away.

He practically lunged into the open car and then slammed the heavy hatch shut.

The feeling of being constantly tracked, like a thorn in one's back, finally disappeared.

Paris leaned against the cold bulkhead, letting out a long, trembling breath as the heavy briefcase slipped from her sweaty hands and crashed onto the carriage floor.

As the vehicle merges into the intricate network of transportation within the space station, lights and structures flash by outside the one-way glass.

"How rude."

Paris was startled and quickly turned around.

Halna's "rabbit ears" peeked out from the shadows of the passenger seat, the optical lens pointed at her.

"How did you...?"

"You've contacted the main control program and triggered the alarm protocol," the robot stated in a flat, electronic voice. "Why?"

“Someone was following me,” Paris explained, her heart still pounding in her chest. “And they were very professional, not just ordinary thugs.”

“There are several possibilities.” Hal’s processor hummed softly. “As instructed, I will follow you and provide the necessary assistance.”

Paris wasn't sure how much the little robot could help in actual combat, but for the moment, she was very grateful.

(End of this chapter)